


when i play it on repeat, until i fall asleep

by kendrasaunders



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kendrasaunders/pseuds/kendrasaunders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kendra's got this urge that needs sating; memory dictates that carter might know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i play it on repeat, until i fall asleep

He’s got like... these ridiculous hands.

She’s never considered herself small, not after her growth spurt in the seventh grade that left her willowy and towering over everyone for a good two years. They’re almost the same in height, but he just seems bigger than her, whenever he’s nearby.

He is not a small man, by any means.

He’s got arms the size of her head, and every time he takes her hand or the small of her back or her arm, she’s acutely aware of the fact that his hands dwarf her body. He can fit both her wrists in one hand, probably. So that’s something.

And sure, that’s an indecent observation on it’s own. It’s fine to be attracted to him, it’s nothing new. He’s handsome, and very brash, and sometimes too sullen for his own good. These are all clear and present things, and she can tackle them in clear and present time.

It’s the dreams. The dreams are the real problem, here.

Because to dream filthy things is one thing, but to have lived them, and to relive them like a memorized routine or a workout is something that’s driving her up the wall and onto the ceiling.

Not to mention it’s ruining her underwear and leaving her sheets all sticky with sweat. It’s gross. It’s weird. And did Chay-ara and Khufu do anything but _fuck?_ She’s never had a repeat dream, and it’s kind of staggering.

She wakes up horny and exhausted. It’s like running a marathon. Didn’t they take a break every once in a while? Isn’t that defeating the point of her sleeping in the first place?

And she could talk to Carter about it, but what good would that solve? He’d either get cocky (terrible), or weirdly mournful (even worse). Like he misses her when she’s standing right there, and she wants to unfold in front of him like he’s waiting for her to. She does. But she doesn’t know how. 

There’s this curiosity that’s eating at her. That maybe there’s a non-linear procession of going about this, that she has done this 206 different ways and now she must figure out number 207.

But mostly, she wants to know how any set of fingers could be so _long_ and fill her so _fully._

She wants to know if he remembers.

 

 

“Carter.”

He looks up, and he always stumbles with his mouth before he says her name. “Kendra.”

And even though she told him Chay-ara was fine, she appreciates it, in some weird sense. Because she still feels solidly like Kendra.

What she’s asking of him comes from Kendra. It’s her body. Not Chay-ara’s. Not anymore, she thinks. She wonders if the urges are the same, and shakes off the thought.

It can’t be good for her to complicate this more. It’s already way too messed up.

He fiddles with his hands, and she doesn’t find that particularly distracting, or anything. It’s not like it’s a habit of his, and it’s not like she notices more and more each time he does it. The way he rubs his thumb along the knuckle of his index finger, in a straight motion each time. It feels contemplative, though she wonders if it’s merely to pass the time.

She nibbles her lip. “I need to ask you something.”

He brightens, like he always does, and with it comes her ever-acute fear of disappointing him. “Anything.”

“Do you have...” She brings her fingers to her lower lip. She doesn’t always bite her nails, though the sensation of having done it once or twice. Like a habit she only gets sometimes.

She wonders if they smoked.

She wonders- 

And he’s still staring.

“Do you dream about the past?”

Something flickers behind his eyes. Hope? “Of course. Every night.” She gestures for him to continue. “We’re supposed to. It helps us remember.”

“But remember what?” Kendra says, maybe too quickly. She swallows. “I mean, what are your dreams about?”

“You,” he says.

“What about me?”

He tilts his head. “Are your dreams bothering you, Kendra? Is there something you need to tell me?”

She thinks, _last night I dreamt you went down on me for what felt like hours._ She says, “You dream about us having sex. Don’t you?”

He moves back. Which is funny, because she’d expected the opposite. That he’d jump on the opportunity, and she feels kind of put off. Like maybe this is a bad idea. “Is that what you dream about?”

She should just say no. “Yes.”

His brow knits together. “And this bothers you?”

“No.”

Pursed lips. Concerned gaze. “So what are you asking of me?”

She looks up to the ceiling, thinking it might calm her down. It doesn’t. “Do you want me?”

He stands. “More than anything.”

With a huff, she undoes the top button on her jeans. “Then take me.”

 

 

This time, he does not surprise her. He takes her face in both hands and consumes.

It’s familiar. And aching. He breathes with a heaviness that she mirrors, puffs of air from her nose as their faces smoosh together.

She takes his wrist and wrenches his hand to her thigh.

It’s forward and reckless and he’s probably got this all planned out in his head. She knows, because she’s got the same scenarios in hers. But she wants this very specifically, and she wants it _now._

His lips find her chin. “Kendra?”

She feels something stuck in her throat, like an apology or a promise or neither. “Do you remember what I like?” she asks.

“Every day of my damn life, sweetheart,” he says.

 

“Then show me,” she hisses. And it’s something of a challenge. She’s spent so much time proving something to him.

She thinks it’s time he returns the sentiment.

He mumbles something incomprehensible against the corner of her mouth.

“Hn?”

He tilts his head away, lips wet. “I said: I am going to make you scream.”

Which is not so much a threat as it is a familiar turn of phrase between them, even if she’s never heard him say it before. 

He backs her against the wall before she registers her movements. She should’ve managed to at least trip, she thinks. But there’s a fluidity to this she hadn’t been expecting, something that makes this whole thing so damn easy. 

“Carter-”

“Sh.” He noses her cheek. “Let me make you feel good.”

Her lashes flutter. “You are,” she murmurs, before she can catch herself.

A chuckle. It comes from his chest, bearing down against hers. And she notices with no small flush that he’s cornered her, that he’s using that little bit of additional height to his advantage.

She makes a noise of urgency, tilting her chin.

He obeys, and seals their lips in another kiss. His hand finally moves from squeezing her thigh to sneaking into her pants. “You’re really-”

“Yeah,” She breathes. “I know.”

He grins against her. Nips her lower lip. “Good.” 

It takes one long finger, taking a tentative of stroke for her to get a chill. She moans against him, and almost remembers to chide herself for it. But why bother? He’s so big, and he smells so good-

Her head swims.

“Just fuck me with it,” she mutters, and that’s kind of forward and demanding.

“In time,” he returns, still taking his time. “I like to re-memorize.”

“Carter.”

He circles her clit. “You’re so soft,” he remarks. “And sweet. I’ve missed you so much. Do you have any idea?”

The intensity of his gaze makes her _throb._ “I have some idea.”

 

 

He strums with his fingers. His middle finger against her clit, and his index teasing her. He could be inside her at any point, but he’s making her wait.

And it’s driving her utterly wild.

But she doesn’t want to beg.

She just wants to bob in this little pleasure haze. He makes her feel so good. So damn good, and this is just an introduction. Just a taste.

It’s as good as the dreams. Maybe better, because this is real and now. It’s hazy. It’s curling in her stomach, building in pressure. 

He finally puts his finger in her, and she cries out before she can stop herself.

“Oh, God.” Her head rests on his shoulder. She presses herself to him, urging him deeper. “Use two.”

“I know, my love,” he whispers. “I know what you like.” He strokes slowly, in contrast to his statement. In. Out. Making her whimper.

“More,” she demands.

He shifts his hand. The heel of his hand grinds against her, and he adds that second finger like she’s been wanting and needing so badly.

“Fuck,” she manages, shutting her eyes.

He nips her ear. And she can remember exactly what he looks like with her eyes closed. Every sly grin, every stride. The way he’d walk towards her, and lay her down. So confident and sure that this is what they were meant to be doing.

She’s starting to think that it is.

She’s starting to realize why Chay-ara and Khufu did this so often.

He scissors his fingers, and drives them home. “Come for me,” he whispers.

Her knees buckle. “I-” 

“Don’t you feel good?” he asks. “Don’t you want to fuck?”

“Yes-” She’s already getting fucked on his hand, and it feels so, so good-

“Then come,” he says. “Let me make you come.”

She’s so wet. She’s not even undressed. “Carter-”

He kisses her.

She screams against him.


End file.
